


Examination

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 19:36:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing scene from "The Second Seal."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Examination

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Green Floating Weirdness #5 under the pen name Gillian Holt.

_"Just doing my job, Doctor."_

 

          For a brief moment, Lt. Colonel Paul Ironhorse was lost.  He opened his eyes and failed to identify the ceiling overhead.  It wasn't his BOQ room at Bragg.  It was… a hospital.

          The memories came back in a flood.  He'd been at Fort Streeter.  Blackwood and Suzanne were there, too… and the aliens.  He'd been shot.

          Letting his eyes fall closed, he began his examination.  Head, fine, just groggy from the anesthesia.  He'd had surgery then.  He concentrated past the diffuse pain, finding the first injury:  his left hand.

          He wiggled his fingers.  Just a nick, he acknowledged.  He flexed the wrist and elbow, sucking in a sharp breath.  Upper arm was a flesh wound, too, but it still hurt like fury.

          _Okay, nothing serious so far, so why was I in surgery?_   He wiggled his toes.  Nothing.  He tried the ankles, then the knees.  His right leg erupted in an agonizing rejection of the movement.

          _That's why_ , he concluded.  He forced his eyes open, and groped for the buttons that controlled the bed.  Once he was sitting up, he raised the sheet and blanket to check his leg.  A thick dressing covered the top of his thigh, but there was no drain, and no matching bandage on the backside.

          _Lucky_ , he thought, relief washing over him.  _Must've caught a ricochet, or a bad shell_.  From the looks of it, he was in remarkably good condition for someone who had taken on six… no, seven aliens singlehandedly.

          He wondered how Blackwood and McCullough were doing.  They'd been acting particularly strange after they emerged from the vaults – not that Blackwood ever acted normal.  They weren't injured, in any case.

          Growing slightly cold, he reached down and pulled up the bedcover.  He eyed the phone on the table next to the bed, wondering if he could reach it.

          The attempt was successful, and he was quickly filled in on the status of the cleanup.  The first level of the vaults was still burning.  He cursed softly.  They would never know what information had been lost.

          He hung up, and leaned back, trying to sleep, but something kept nagging at him, keeping him awake.  With a heavy sigh he grabbed the remote for the television hanging in one corner of the room and pressed the power button.

          Watching the news, he tried to sort through what was bothering him.  He was… angry?

          _No_ , he amended.  Hurt?

          Disappointed.  That was it.

          He was disappointed… but why?

          _No one's here_ , he answered immediately.

          He snorted.  _What the hell's wrong with me?  And just who the hell did I expect?_

          Blackwood.  Suzanne.  Norton.

          He scowled at the truth.  _Why?  Christ, I know better than to get involved._   But that did nothing to elevate the feelings.

          _They're busy_ , he argued.  Norton's at the Cottage, monitoring for activity and tracking down the any possible material that might still be in the vaults, and Blackwood and Suzanne would be at the vaults, doing what they could, and dealing with anything that might be salvaged.

          Besides, he was fine.  The wounds on his arm and hand were next to nothing and the leg wound looked better than several others he'd received.  There was no reason why anyone should be there.  It wasn't like he'd never woken up in a hospital alone, for God's sake.

          He was a solider.  He was replaceable.  They were civilians.  They tolerated his presence at the Cottage and resented the security.  Why would he possibly expect them to be there?

          _You're getting soft_ , he chided himself.  His attention shifted to the weather report, and when it was over he turned the television off.

          _Get some sleep_ , he commanded silently.  _Tomorrow's another day_.

          His eyes slid closed as the door opened silently.  "Colonel?"

          "Hmm?" he mumbled, blinking.

          Suzanne stepped into the room.  "Sorry, did I wake you?"

          He shook his head.

          "I just wanted to check and see if you were okay.  The doctor said everything's fine."

          "I guessed," he told her.

          "He said you have to stay here tomorrow, but then you should be able to go back to the Cottage."

          Ironhorse nodded.  He could tolerate the place for two days.  "The vaults?"

          "Still burning.  Harrison's there now.  Norton had some possible leads on more material, but they haven't been able to locate it.  He told me to tell you that he's glad you were there," she said.  "So am I."

          "Just doing my job, Doctor."

          "I know, but I'm still glad."  She reached out and squeezed his shoulder.  "Get some sleep.  We'll see you in the morning."

          He watched her go, a warm feeling spreading through his chest, and forcing the corners of his mouth to curl.


End file.
